Page 93 of The Scarred Duchess
“I am aware,” replied his challenger.
“Are you?” asked Gillett.
“I am aware you are an addlepate, scapegrace, shamming cur.”
Gillett’s lip curled. “Very well. Let us delay no longer...?”
“Bennet. Mr Thomas Bennet.”
Gillett seized Price’s arm and spun him around. “Have you lost your wits? That is Tommy Bennet! Have you not been to Angelo's?”
“You could delope,” Price replied. “I am sure time would allow the stain to pass.”
“No, that will not do.”Damnation!
“When you defeat him—and you shall—your victory will be your stepping stone to fame and further fortune.”
Resolved but still wary, Gillett turned back towards Bennet and unsheathed his sabre. Bennet did the same.
Price called the duellists to begin. “En garde.” Both men assumed their footing.
“Prêt.” Two weapons rose into position.
“Allez!” Steel clashed with steel. Up and right. Left. Down. Gillett separated from Bennet, then met him again. Crossed swords at chest level, Gillett pushed off. As he stepped back, Bennet slashed his forward thigh.
“A hit,” shouted Price. He removed his cravat and bound the wound. “Should I signal you choose to withdraw?”
“It is but a flesh wound, Monty,” hissed Gillett loudly. He looked at Bennet and tested his stance. “I would rather die than surrender. You are only the second to have ever drawnmy blood. The first walks with a cane, a daily reminder of his good luck.”
Bennet shrugged. Gillett nodded to Price.
“En garde,” called Price. “Prêt.”
“Allez!”
Steel clashed again. Right. Left. Down. Again, Gillett crossed swords with Bennet at chest level before feinting a step back and lunging. He passed left into Bennet’s sabre, the blade slashing his non-sword arm. Grimacing in pain, Gillett dropped his weapon and covered the wound.
“Shall we continue this farce?” Bennet asked, his disdain thicker than molasses.
“You may still yield,” Price whispered. “You did, at least, accept his challenge.”
“It is not enough. I will not submit.” Gillett picked up his sword. “Engage him again, I shall!”
Price called the duellists to the ready position. “En garde.”
“Prêt.”
Gillett lunged. It was if Bennet had expected him to cheat, he so quickly parried and spun him around. Off-balance and in fear for his life, Gillett swung wildly; he was now face-to-face with Bennet, a completely vulnerable position.
Bennet smacked his fisted hilt against Gillett’s forehead, stepped back, and rammed his sabre through his chest. Gillett gasped, then dropped his sword.
Bennet held him upright, one hand under the pit of his arm. As Gillett exhaled his last, he used his weapon as a leverto lower the dead man to the ground. He tucked a note into the corpse’s hand and a sealed letter into his breast pocket.
The giant placed a greatcoat over Bennet’s shoulders, and both men left Hampstead Heath in silence. Price watched them off. Once they were out of sight, he retrieved the note and read the betting line.
“Thankfully, I was not so foolish to wager on the Scarred Lily,” he admonished the corpse. He replaced the note in the manner he had found it. He ignored the letter.
Sir Montgomery Price left Hampstead Heath with shoulders more than a thousand pounds lighter.
